


The Adventure of the Gloveless Thug

by AllKindsOfEverything



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, lemings, somewhat AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-07-15 16:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7230322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllKindsOfEverything/pseuds/AllKindsOfEverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miss Lemon gets mugged and Hastings gets protective.<br/>Poirot is on the case, so if/when I finish this one, the culprit will probably be caught.<br/>...who am I kidding, of COURSE he will be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set around 1935, and I sincerely hope I've not messed up any details.  
> But feel free to point out anything that strikes you as odd! Comments are more than welcome!  
> They keep me going. ^_^

Miss Felicity Lemon was a very punctual person. It was one of the things Poirot valued about her.  
So it struck him as rather odd when he checked his pocket watch for the third time this afternoon to find that it had gone half past six without her showing up after her tea break. It was already dark outside, not unusual for late October.

He looked up when he heard the front door open and frowned, ready to ask what had kept her. To his surprise she didn't come into the sitting room, but went straight into her own little office.

He waited another five minutes, expecting her to come and explain herself when she had finished whatever task she was occupying herself with, but she still didn't see fit to show.  
Poirot huffed in agitation and got up from behind his desk, straightening his jacket as he walked towards the sliding window that separated the two rooms.

He was just about to give her a lecture about the utmost importance of punctuality, but after his initial "Miss Lemon!" his words died on his lips when she turned to him.  
His eyes widened, his brows rising towards his receding hairline when he saw the angry bruise on her cheekbone and the recently split lip she had tried to disguise as best as she could with the lipstick she was wearing, the scab ruining her otherwise perfectly symmetric lip line.

Poirot quickly recovered and went on asking, "Miss Lemon, what has happened to you?"

She blushed deeply, avoiding his eyes, her voice shaking, "I'm so sorry, Mister Poirot. I was... I... was," she trailed off, shaking her head, obviously holding back tears.

Without another word Poirot closed the window pane and quickly walked over into the other room, concern etched onto his face.  
He went to stand next to where she was seated behind her desk and looked down at her, studying her features. Her eyes were closed; he noticed the tension in her shoulders and -very gently- placed a hand on one.

Miss Lemon gasped at the unexpected touch, shrinking away from it. The moment their eyes met, she panicked at the hurt expression he quickly tried to hide. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mister Poirot, it's just...," she didn't know how to go on. Trying her best to calm herself, she decided to start at the beginning, "There was this man on the street."

He remained silent, watching her closely as her gaze flitted about the room, never resting in one place for too long.

"I was just coming back from the tea room down the road and there he was, standing at the corner to the alley." Felicity hated the way her hands trembled as she recounted what had happened. "The street lights had not been turned on yet, and he asked me if I had the time."

Looking down at her hands, she traced her left index finger over her bruised, right ring finger. "I told him I didn't have a watch and just kept walking." Tears were burning behind her eyes and she took a shaky breath in an attempt to steady herself. "He must have followed me. I didn't notice. Not until he grabbed me." She built up the courage to look at her employer then, regretting it immediately.  
He looked at her with a mixture of alertness, understanding, sympathy and rage. It was quite unsettling.

Poirot felt his stomach contract; she had been assaulted. What made it worse was that it had happened close by. He nodded curtly, trying to think of how to ask her for more information without upsetting her any further. It just could not be done.

Before he could form his next question, the front door was opened again, Hastings' cheerful voice echoing through the flat. Poirot saw Miss Lemon's eyes widen in panic and turned around, wanting to redirect the good captain to spare his secretary more discomfort, but it was too late.

"Good God, what happened?" Hastings was at Miss Lemon's side in three strides, kneeling down next to her.

"Captain Hastings, I," she turned away from him but he suddenly cupped her cheek and gently turned her back towards him.

His gaze travelled over her bruises. Without thinking, he gently brushed his thumb over her battered cheekbone.

The look of unconcealed concern he gave her made her lose control, tears blurring her vision, a stifled sob escaped her throat.

Hastings looked past her at Poirot, uncertain of how to proceed. Only then he realised his hand was still on her cheek and he acted on instinct, sliding it down to her shoulder and around it, pulling her into a somewhat awkward hug. She didn't seem to mind, burying her face into the crook of his neck, her hands against his chest, his shirt bunched up in her balled fists.

He hushed her, rubbing her back in small circles, his questioning eyes on Poirot. Watching his friend shake his head, he nodded mutely and concentrated on the woman in his arms, her small frame shaking with sobs. He had never seen her lose control like this. Pondering about it for a moment, he realised that once she stopped, she would feel terrible about crying in front of them. He made a mental note not to let her.  
There was a cramp burning in his calf, but he didn't dare move. He still wondered what had happened.

She didn't know how long it had been since she had broken down; her face was still buried in Captain Hastings' neck, the soothing motion of his hand helping her calm down. She felt tired. Her cheek ached and her lip was throbbing in tune with her heartbeat. Trying to steady her breathing, she concentrated on the patterns his fingers were painting on her back.

Forcing herself to straighten up, she sniffled, looking into the kind eyes of the captain as he sat back on his heels, his hands sliding down her arms to clasp hers gently. Looking down, she whispered, "I got your shirt all wet." Her gaze travelled to his collar, the mascara stains on it making her cheeks burn with embarrassment, which didn't help the aching in her cheekbone at all.

He smiled gently and shook his head, "It's quite all right."

"I'll pay for the dry cleaning," she offered, watching his smile widen slightly. She felt utterly silly.

Hastings got up without letting go of her hands, his eyes never leaving her face, the muscles in his calf screaming at him. He tried to hide the pain, keeping his face and voice as neutral as possible as he asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

Felicity gave him another watery smile and nodded, feeling empty when his warm hands finally let go of hers. She looked down at them, fresh tears threatening to spill over at the sight of the empty spot on her ring finger. Turning around to look at Mister Poirot, she felt a wave of guilt wash over her. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, putting his hands behind his back to stop himself from reaching out to touch her again. "There is no need, _mon amie_ , I assure you." It was strange, seeing her so vulnerable. "Shall we go into the sitting room?"

She considered for a moment, knowing that she would have to continue relaying the events of the afternoon if she did. Taking a deep breath, she gently wiped her eyes, nodded and got up, watching him bow slightly, his hand gesturing towards the door, silently asking her to lead the way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for my darling Anon; you made my day with your kind words!!

When she entered the room, she stood there for a moment, unsure whether to sit on the sofa or take a seat in front of the detective's desk. She was grateful when Poirot walked over to one of the comfortable arm chairs; it would feel much less formal like this.

He waited for her to take a seat before sitting down himself, leaning back, tenting his fingers in front of his face.

She crossed her ankles, sitting upright, not feeling comfortable enough to lean back against the cushions. Trying her best to appear calm, she wet her lips, attempting to think of how to proceed. She was just about to start speaking when Captain Hastings came in with the tea.

Hastings set down the tea tray and placed the cups on their saucers. From the corner of his eye, he saw Miss Lemon reach out to help, but he stopped her. "It's all right." He smiled at her reassuringly.  
There was a somewhat uncomfortable silence in the room while he poured the tea.  
When he was done, he walked around the table, taking a seat next to Miss Lemon instead of in the unoccupied arm chair.

She glanced at him, wondering why he had decided to join her on the sofa. His closeness felt strangely calming.  
Sucking in her lower lip, she let the tip of her tongue run over the injury she had obtained earlier in the day and took a deep breath.

"I...," she swallowed dryly and reached for her tea, taking a sip. Putting the cup back down shakily, she started again, "I didn't see his face."  
She was grateful for the moment of silence that followed, knowing she had the undivided attention of both men, and that they would give her as much time as she needed. She just wanted to get this over with. Glancing towards the sliding window at the other side of the room, she yearned to get back to her typewriter, to normality.

Folding her hands in her lap, she fixed her eyes on them and continued, "It was dark, his voice was rough and his hand was over my mouth." Felicity felt a lump form in her throat as she recalled the terror she had felt.  
"He had a knife," her eyes closed, her hand flying to her neck, tracing a shallow cut on the side of it that was half-covered by the collar of her blouse. "And, uhm," she hated the way her voice sounded; feeble and unsteady. She furrowed her brow, angry at herself.  
"He told me to give him my purse. So I did." Opening her eyes, she looked towards Poirot; his face was a mask of calm, it was oddly comforting. In the back of her head she wondered whether he was making deductions already. "He asked me if I had anything else and I said no."  
She paused for a moment, glancing towards Captain Hastings, who looked like he was about to go out and kill someone. If the situation hadn't been so dire she would have found it comical; he was such a gentle man, how he had ever fought in a war was beyond her. She ran her fingertips across her forehead and sighed, shaking her head.  
"He said I was lying. I didn't think...," the tears were threatening to fall again. Suddenly, Captain Hastings shifted next to her and placed a hand over hers where it lay on her thigh. Staring at their joined hands for a second, she met his eyes as his fingers curled around hers. "I didn't know what he meant and then he," she touched her cheek, "he hit me."

Fury was bubbling in Hastings' gut; it must have shown on his face, because she regarded him in the most peculiar way. He squeezed her hand reassuringly and she turned her head, brushing a tear away as it escaped her long lashes.

"I must have fallen down." Felicity shook her head, her brow furrowed. "I remember waking up lying on the ground in that alley. My gloves were gone and my ring was missing." She swallowed hard, unable to continue.

The moment Hastings learned that she had lost consciousness, his concern for her grew. "We should get you to a doctor," he spoke quietly, but with considerable determination, pulling his hand from hers to get up.

Turning her attention towards him, she shook her head and gently touched his forearm to stop him as he shifted his weight to stand, "I'm fine, Captain Hastings."

Hastings glanced back at her, "But you could have a concussion for all we know."

"I promise you, I'm all right." She smiled mildly at the concern in his eyes, "I don't have the first hint of a headache, honestly."

He was not entirely happy about it, but decided not to argue further, relaxing back into his seat.

Poirot observed the two silently, deep in thought; he had not moved a muscle since sitting down. His little grey cells had already begun to work, but there was still too little to go on. "Miss Lemon," he addressed her, waiting for her to look at him before continuing, "this man; you said you did not see his face?"

"No." Miss Lemon felt terrible about how little she could help. "Like I said, the street lights hadn't been turned on yet." She tried hard to remember any detail that might help. "The knife was odd."

This seemed to pique Poirot's interest. "Odd?"

Her brow knitted, her gaze was fixed on a point in the distance. "Yes... it felt like it had a ribbed edge. Like a bread knife," unconsciously, her hand went back to the cut on her neck, "but smaller... and irregular."

“Was he tall?” Hastings asked, desperate to help.

Felicity closed her eyes for a moment and shivered as she recalled being pressed against the wall, her other hand curling into a fist on her thigh. Feeling Captain Hastings place his hand over hers again, she was grateful for the soothing effect it had on her, her fingers relaxing. "Much taller than me. His hands were smooth." She was surprised by her recollection.

"So he was not wearing the gloves," Poirot stated.

"No," she tilted her head, deep in thought, "No, he wasn't." Her fingers were still tracing the scab oh the base of her throat.

Hastings watched her intently, marvelling at how composed she seemed now, remembering vividly how she had been sobbing in his arms not ten minutes ago.  
He absently brushed his thumb over her hand. How could anyone be cruel enough to hurt someone as gentle as Miss Lemon?

"You said he did not believe you?" Poirot inquired further.

Felicity shook her head.

"And your hands, they were covered?" He watched a frown wash over Miss Lemon's face, her eyes meeting his.

"Yes."

Poirot nodded slowly and then said, "So he must have known about the ring you wear."

Her mouth opened slightly, she blinked several times. She hadn't thought of that. Her voice was unsteady, "You think so, Mister Poirot?"

The detective shrugged his shoulders, "It is the most logical explanation for his reaction, _n’est-ce pas_?"

Hastings shifted in his seat, the anger rising like bile in his throat. "That swine," he growled lowly, blushing when he turned to see Miss Lemon stare at him in surprise. "Sorry."

Smiling gently, grateful for the kind-hearted man whose hand was still holding hers, she placed her second hand on top of his.

He blushed furiously at her action, but couldn't stop the smile that took over his features.

They sat in silence for a while, each of them deep in thought.

"Hastings, would you be so kind as to take Miss Lemon home?" Poirot finally asked, taking out his pocket watch to check the time.

The couple on the sofa turned to look at each other, both surprised at their friend's request.

"Well, of course," Hastings stuttered, "I mean, if that's all right with you, Miss Lemon?"

Her mind screamed at her to find a way to stay longer, that she didn't want to go home and be alone, but she ignored it, instead putting on a fake smile and nodding silently.

Poirot got up and nodded, “ _Bon_.”

Hastings could have sworn he'd seen panic behind her eyes, but now it was gone. He got up as well and watched Miss Lemon do the same.

She remained standing rooted to the spot for a moment, looking rather lost.

Poirot smiled gently at her, "Do not worry yourself, Miss Lemon. Hercule Poirot, he is on the case."

Felicity wanted to thank him, but didn't trust herself to speak. Blinking back tears she nodded and quickly turned to leave the room.

Hastings looked after her, then at the detective.

"Stay with her, _mon ami_ ," Poirot said, keeping his voice low enough to make sure Miss Lemon didn't hear him. Looking at the door his secretary had disappeared though, he added, "Under no circumstances let her out of your sight. This man, he might be closer than we think."

They shared a knowing glance.  
Hastings nodded curtly at the shorter man, before going after Miss Lemon, determined to keep her safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my precious betas for all your lovely comments! Your positive feedback makes me continue ♥


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Face claim for Mrs Fowler is Phyllida Law ... because her face is a good face and it was the one that immediately came to my mind when the door opened.  
> ...if you think this is starting to get "shippy", wait for the next chapter. *smirks*

She had been awfully quiet on the journey home.   
Hastings had argued that they should get her checked over by a doctor, just to make absolutely sure she was all right, but she had remained stubborn and in the end he had given in.  
After that initial argument he had tried several times to coax a conversation out of her, but every question he had come up with had been answered monosyllabically.   
He was worried about her.

Parking the car right in front of the house she was living in, he turned off the engine and looked at her. She was staring blankly ahead, obviously lost in thought, so he gently addressed her, "Miss Lemon?"

"Hmm?" Her gaze still fixed on a spot in the distance, she raised her eyebrows questioningly, but didn't move. When he stayed quiet, she took a deep breath and blinked several times, then looked at him.

"We're here." He nodded his chin towards the dark green front door and watched her follow his gaze.

"Oh." Only then Felicity realised they had arrived at their destination. She also realised what this meant; he would open the car door for her, bid her goodnight and then.... she would be alone. Alone with her thoughts and her memories and her feelings. She was surprised when small a sob escaped her parted lips, blushing furiously, praying he hadn't noticed. She tried desperately not to start crying again. Holding her breath, her eyes closed, she heard him get out of the car and then felt the door on her side being opened. She slowly breathed out through her nose, opened her eyes and turned to take his outstretched hand.

He brought her up to the front door and waited for her to take out her keys, letting his gaze glide around the premises to make sure that the stranger wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

"No," Felicity breathed. She felt nauseated.

From his place on the first step of the three stairs to her house he asked,"What is it?"

She spun around, meeting his concerned gaze. "My keys. They were in my purse."

His stomach contracted. Quickly stepping towards her, he took her by the elbow, steadying her when he saw her sway slightly.   
Before he could think of what to say, the front door was opened and the land lady, Mrs Fowler _,_ appeared.

"Felicity, dear, I'm so glad you're home." The white haired lady smiled kindly at the pair.  
Hastings wasn't sure whether she was oblivious to Miss Lemon's current state of mind, or if she just decided to ignore the bruises on her face out of courtesy.   
Her voice was a suspicious whisper as she bowed her head towards them, "There was a man snooping around the house earlier."

Hastings felt Miss Lemon lean into him heavily.

"Oh?" Felicity tried her best to smile nonchalantly. "What did he want?"

"Well, that's the thing, dear," Mrs Fowler stopped, opening the door further. "Better come in. Mustn't let the neighbours get wind."

The pair stepped into the hallway of the two story building, Captain Hastings staying closely behind Miss Lemon.

The moment the front door was closed, the land lady shuffled closer, her voice not much louder than a whisper. "He was trying to unlock your door, Felicity."

Miss Lemon felt dizzy, grateful when the captain placed a hand on the small of her back. She didn't have to wait long for the old woman to continue.

"I asked him who he was and what he wanted. I mean, you know me, I always ask strangers to make sure they're not trespassing. Can't be too careful these days." She seemed to pause for dramatic effect if nothing else, "But you see, when he turned around and saw me, he ran right past me without a word. Almost pushed me over. Can you believe it?"  
Mrs Fowler studied the pale face of the other woman with some concern, "Are you all right, dear?"

Concentrating on her breathing, Felicity nodded slightly, "Thank you, Mrs Fowler." She swallowed back tears, unsure of what to do next.

"He did drop these though," Mrs Fowler produced a ring of keys Hastings immediately recognized by the marble cat pendant that hung from it, now missing an ear.

Miss Lemon felt a wave of relief wash over her when she accepted the keys.

"Did you see whether he had gotten into the flat at all before you stopped him?" Captain Hastings inquired; wanting to make sure that there weren't any nasty surprises waiting behind the closed door.

"Oh," Mrs Fowler sized him up, apparently deciding that he was trustworthy, "I heard someone walk up the stairs. That's when I went to see." She furrowed her brow, "It sounded so different from Felicity's stride."

Hastings nodded, "Thank you, Mrs Fowler, we'll be on our way now." He manoeuvred Miss Lemon around the old woman and towards the staircase.

Mrs Fowler was surprised by the handsome man's statement. Felicity Lemon had been living in her building for a good twenty years, but never before had she brought a man into the house. For a moment Mrs Fowler considered arguing, but then decided to let it go when she remembered the distress on poor Felicity's face. She had always been such a good girl, and the tall gentleman who had led her by the elbow seemed very kind. She'd allow it. Just this once. This was a respectable house after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my precious beta! I have your commented version saved for whenever I feel low. ;o)
> 
> I live for feedback... and I hope you'll find the time to leave kudos and/or a comment.  
> You see, I have this little "statistic" thing which tells me how often people have opened the story and I'm getting really self-conscious about my writing. Do you like it, or did you read the first sentence and then just go "ugh. no!"?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely we're getting somewhere.   
> I have to stop myself from just pushing their heads together and tell them "Now kiss."  
> Mustn't get them OOC.

Opening her front door, her heart in her throat, she smiled in relief when her cat meowed at her in greeting. She stepped in, leaving the door open for Captain Hastings and took a look around. Nothing seemed to be out of place. Mrs. Fowler had been right; he hadn't been in here. Felicity held on to that thought, trying to ignore that this didn't change the fact that he knew where she lived.   
_'Who was that man?'_ She touched her bruised ring finger absentmindedly, rubbing her thumb over the empty space her mother's ring had held for so long. _'Why did he do it?'_

She turned to see Captain Hastings hang up his hat and coat and smiled to herself gratefully. He seemed to be in no hurry to leave.

"May I?" He lifted his hands, offering to help her with her coat.

She nodded and turned around to let him push it off her shoulders. "Thank you."

Hastings hung her coat next to his and watched her take off her hat, shoving his hands into his pockets. He returned the smile she shot him and followed into the small living room.

"Would you like some tea?" She motioned for him to sit down.

Making himself comfortable on the sofa, he replied, "Tea would be lovely, thanks."

She disappeared into the kitchen and busied herself with putting the kettle on.   
There were tears burning behind her eyes. It annoyed her. The logical part of her brain told her over and over again that there was no need to cry; she was safe right now, the physical pain was subsiding, and Hercule Poirot himself was on the case. There was nothing she could do but wait now. So why did she want to curl into a ball and cry? She was so frustrated with herself that part of her pretended that emotion to be the source of her tears. So she stood there, at the counter of her kitchen, the kettle boiling next to her, with Captain Hastings in the other room, and let the tears fall silently.  
She was tired of fighting them. There was a lump in her throat and her whole body shook, but she didn't weep. She just stood there in complete silence and tried to breathe regularly.

When the water was boiling she took a deep breath, mechanically reaching up to dry her eyes, hoping they weren't too puffy. Preparing the tea, she sniffled and brushed her hand under her nose, concentrating on the task at hand; the dull ache she had felt in her chest a few minutes ago subsiding slowly. _"See?"_ a voice in the back of her head said, _"You're going to be fine."_ Part of her didn't believe it for a second, however desperately the rest of her clung onto the thought.

When she stepped back into the sitting room, she smiled the first genuine smile since this morning as she saw Captain Hastings look up somewhat apologetically while he tried in vain to shift a very content looking cat off his lap. "She likes you."

"Well, I like her too," he looked down at the British Shorthair and it met his eyes as if it knew exactly what he was saying, "but I would really have liked to help."

"Don't worry, Captain Hastings," Felicity set down the tray, "I'm quite capable of managing this by myself."

"I have no doubt you do, but still," Hastings surrendered and let the golden tabby cat curl up on his lap with a sigh, resting a gentle hand on top of it.

"She's very particular about whom she allows to handle her. It's a miracle she hasn't even tried to scratch you." Miss Lemon went to sit next to him on the sofa, scratching the cat behind the ears. It started purring and rolled onto its back under the captain's hand, presenting its off-white belly.

He watched her face closely as she continued to stroke the cat. She looked a lot calmer now. For a moment he wondered whether it was because of her pet or him.

"Have you ever had a cat, Captain Hastings?" Her voice was soft, her eyes remaining focused on the purring feline.

"No," he simply stated, following her gaze, watching her hand as it slid through the thick fur.

"I always have." Felicity smiled, completely calm, "always strays. They seem to... find me."

"They sense your kindness," he said without thinking.

Her smile widened at that and their eyes met. "You think so?"

He nodded mutely.

They kept gazing at each other for a long moment, until Felicity suddenly looked away, "Tea?"

Hastings felt like coming out of a daze, "Yes, please."

~*~+~*~

They kept talking about everything and nothing for a while.

He knew she was trying to delay his departure, but the conversation flowed easily and it was only when she stifled a yawn that he realised the time.

"It's late," he remarked, immediately feeling sorry when her expression turned to stone. "You should go to bed."

Felicity nodded curtly, the panic she had been able to forget during their discussion returning full force. "Yes."

He looked at her with concern. “Are you all right, Miss Lemon?”

Trying to smile, she failed miserably. “It’s just that…,” she sighed in resignation, avoiding his gaze. Taking a shaky breath she finally whispered, “I’m scared.” She swallowed hard, “Every time I close my eyes, I feel his hand over my mouth and…,” her fingers travelled to the cut on the base of her throat. She shrugged, shaking her head, unable to explain further.

He studied her for a long moment, then reached out and took her hand, waiting for her to look at him. "Would you like me to stay?"

She couldn't begin to express how grateful she was for the offer. "Would you?"

"Of course," he smiled tenderly; glad to have been able to put her at ease somewhat.

Felicity tried to think of a way to show her gratitude, but didn't know how. A growing part of her just wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. Blushing at her own train of thought, she quickly got up before she could act on the impulse.  
"I'll get you a blanket," she stated simply and went to retrieve the extra bedding she kept in a chest in her bedroom.

On the sofa, Captain Hastings' smiled proudly. He had done good. Looking down at the cat he whispered, "She's very pretty when she's flustered, isn't she?"   
He could have sworn he saw it nod in amused agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my precious nonny. You're the light of my life.
> 
> I'm sorry to say that I'm getting a bit of a writer's block at the moment. Cross your fingers that it will pass.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my darling nonny for taking the time to write to me.  
> And thanks to shaitarn for dropping me a line as well! I'm so pleased to see you enjoyed the posted chapters. ♥

He had taken off his jacket, tie and shoes by the time she returned.  
Handing him the blanket and pillow, she asked, "Are you sure you'll be all right in here? You can have the bed, if you want?"

"Oh, no. I think it's better if I stay out here," he smiled and spread out the blanket, continuing, "If he tries to come back, I'll be right here to greet him." Hastings stopped in his tracks, only now realising what he had said. He looked at her and saw the panic in her eyes. Moving closer, he gently took hold of her arms, "Don't worry, Miss Lemon. It's going to be fine."

Looking down at her shoes, she swallowed hard, whispering, "I'm sure you're right." She turned away, avoiding his gaze, knowing she'd start crying again if she saw the kindness in his eyes. "Good night."

He stood there and looked after her, but she didn't look back as she left the room, leaving him standing in the dim light of the table lamp next to the sofa.  
"Idiot," he breathed, angry at himself, sitting down with a huff. He wouldn't sleep a wink.

~*~*~*~

Hastings wasn't quite sure when it had happened, but he must have dozed off eventually.  
A faint noise made him open his eyes; it was still dark. Turning his head, he saw the pale figure of Miss Lemon standing in the doorway, dressed in a simple white nightgown, her maroon robe tied up loosely, her dark hair pulled back from her face, uncertainty in her eyes.  
Sitting up slowly to indicate he was indeed awake, he turned on the table lamp. "Miss Lemon?"

She stayed where she was, feeling uneasy for having woken him.  
Her voice was low, "I couldn't sleep."

Captain Hastings smiled reassuringly. She looked so lost; he wanted to hug her.

Slowly walking towards the sofa, she stopped in front of him.  
Looking from him towards the hall, she whispered, "What if he does come back?"

Hastings couldn't bear the fear in her voice a moment longer. Getting up, he looked down at her, "He won't." She was so close, he could have easily wrapped his arms around her, but he was afraid he might scare her.

"I'm sorry I woke you." Her voice was like velvet.

In the faint light of the lamp the bruise on her face looked like a dull, inky smudge, ruining her otherwise perfect complexion. He gazed at her unblinkingly; even without make-up she was incredibly pretty. His eyes fixed on the cut on her bottom lip, he furrowed his brow, fresh anger rising inside him at the stranger who had laid hands on her.  
Doing his best to smile, his voice matched hers, "Don't be."

They stood in silence for a moment, neither sure what to do.  
Hastings built up the courage to make a rather bold suggestion, "Would it help if I'd stay... closer by?"

She was surprised by his offer, thinking it over carefully, finally nodding, "It might?"

Hastings felt a weight lift off his chest. "Come on then," he slowly reached for her hand, "let's get you back to bed." Picking up his blanket, he then brushed past her, pulling her towards the doorway.

~*~*~*~

She didn't quite know why she had bothered turning on the bedside lamp. Standing by her side of the bed, she stared straight ahead through the window on the other side of the room. The curtains weren't drawn and the full moon outside hung in a cloudless sky.

Felicity pulled herself out of her reverie and turned to look at Captain Hastings with uncertainty. They hadn't quite defined how close "closer" was.  
Brushing a stray curl that had escaped her braid behind her ear, she smiled at him, then turned and walked towards the chair in front of the dressing table next to the door. She took off her dressing gown and placed it neatly over the backrest.  
Crossing back to the bed, she smiled as she saw him pull back the blanket for her and slid between the sheets, giggling sheepishly as he proceeded carefully to tuck her in.

"Thank you." She smiled up at him when he had finished his task.

Straightening his back, his expression matched hers and he nodded. He looked around the room, trying to find something to sleep on other than the bed. He couldn't inconvenience her like that. It would be most inappropriate. Even though, as he had been surprised to find out when stepping into the room, her bed was a double. Part of him was still wondering whether it had come with the flat or if she had actually purchased it herself.

Finally opting for the rather comfortable looking chair she had placed her robe on, he turned it towards the bed, sat down and draped his blanket on top of him. Shifting forward, he tried to find a position that would work for him to fall asleep in, but knowing himself he wouldn't really have to bother; he could fall asleep doing a headstand.

Felicity lay on her side, watching with some amusement as he crossed and uncrossed his legs, then slid around the seat for a bit. She couldn't help but giggle. After a minute or two he had settled and closed his eyes. She furrowed her brow. "That can't be comfortable?"

Hastings looked towards her, trying to sound nonchalant, "Don't worry about me. Good night, Miss Lemon."

She watched him close his eyes, and replied, "Good night," mentally calculating how long it would take for him to slide off the chair if he remained in his current position.  
Turning off her bedside lamp Felicity pulled the covers up further around her, closing her eyes only to open them a moment later as she heard him shift around on the chair again, studying him intensely in the pale moonlight. Part of her wanted to kiss him for being so sweet, but another part of her was getting rather annoyed. Stubborn man; pretending to be able to sleep like that. Even looking at him gave her a backache.

Hastings concentrated on his breathing, keeping it low and steady. This was indeed not the most comfortable he had ever been, but he would manage. He had had worse.  
Her voice drifted towards him moments later.

"Captain Hastings?"

"Hmm?" He lazily opened his eyes.

Miss Lemon turned on the lamp again and sat up, regarding him with a stern look, "Come over here."

His mind was playing tricks on him. "Huh?"

"I simply can't have you sleep in that chair," she shook her head.

"But-."

"-Please," she insisted. Looking into his kind eyes, she smiled mildly, her mind made up. "This bed is more than wide enough for two people."

He was rather happy about the prospect of sleeping comfortably, but still asked, "Are you sure you won't mind?"

Huffing, she replied, "I would mind a lot more to find you unable to move tomorrow morning."

She did have a point there. Getting up slowly, he mentally gave himself a push, gathered his blanket and pillow, and walked to the other side of the bed to lie next to her at a safe distance.

Felicity felt strange; she couldn't remember the last time she had shared a bed with anyone but the cat. For a brief moment she wondered where it was, but then dismissed the thought, turned off the lights and rolled onto her side to face the man now lying next to her.

He immediately mirrored her position, after a moment whispering "Thank you."

A slow smile took over her features; nodding, she nestled into her pillow and closed her eyes, her hand coming to rest between them, at the level of her eyes. "Thank _you_ , Captain Hastings."

She felt him shift and an instant later his warm hand was covering hers, squeezing reassuringly. She was glad he was here, still smiling as she drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! This is getting more "shippy" (yes, I will keep using that word even though there's a squiggly red line under it.) by the chapter... is it still in character? In my head it is... .  
> Tell me what you think! Tell me which bits you liked best or the bits you didn't like at all! Talk to me, so I know you're there! ♥


	6. Chapter 6

Like every other morning her alarm sounded at quarter to seven. _Un_ like every other morning, Felicity furrowed her brow and groaned in disapproval, letting it ring until it stopped by itself instead of reaching over and turning it off. She was far too comfortable to move that much right now. Her head was resting on something warm and remarkably firm. Slowly, she became aware that it was moving, which was rather strange for a pillow. It also was emitting a steady, rhythmic thumping, that tempted her further to go back to sleep. Snuggling closer, she felt something wrap around her back. She furrowed her brow slightly. That couldn't be the cat; it was the wrong shape. Trying hard to pull herself out of her comfortable doze, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes, freezing instantly when realisation hit her. Slowly lifting her head, she looked down at the dishevelled man she had been lying half on top of and quickly pulled away, a deep blush colouring her cheeks.

Captain Hastings' mind registered the ringing of an alarm, but it didn't sound like his, so he decided to ignore it. He had the odd sensation of someone snuggling against his side and smiled to himself, wrapping his arm around them. He didn't even try to figure out who it was; all he knew was that it felt rather nice having them there. A moment later he was left alone and grumbled a little. "Pity," he breathed, his eyes still closed as he rolled onto his side, trying to get comfortable again.

"Good morning to you too," Felicity couldn't fight the smile his sleepy admission put on her face, even though it made the bruise on her cheekbone start throbbing rather unpleasantly.

Taking in a deep breath, Hastings squinted his eyes and familiar features came into focus. It took him another moment to realise where he was and what had just happened. Sitting up with a start, he felt his cheeks burn up. "Oh. Sorry."

Miss Lemon smiled in amusement and scooted further towards her side of the bed, sitting on the edge, looking back at him over her shoulder. "Don't worry. I won't hold it against you."

Part of him wanted to quip about the things she _had_ been holding against him less than five minutes ago, but he thought better of it and remained silent. He looked away from her as she got up and went to fetch her dressing gown. This situation felt strange; he had the odd feeling of trespassing into a part of her life nobody was meant to see.

"Are you hungry?"

He turned towards her and met her smiling eyes. "A little," he lied; hoping his stomach wouldn't churn.

"Anything in particular? Eggs, toast, bacon," tilting her head, one eyebrow raised, she added, "pancakes?"

Hastings smiled at her, "I'll just have whatever you're having." He watched her nod. Following her with  his gaze as she left the room he wondered; she seemed perfectly fine having him around. He felt a comfortable warmth spreading out from the middle of his stomach. Getting up, he decided to nip into the bathroom to get dressed while she was busy preparing their meal.

~*~*~*~

Leaning back in his chair, Hastings regarded his now empty plate with satisfaction as they sat in Miss Lemon's kitchen. "That was lovely."

Felicity got up to clean away their plates, trying to hide her delighted smile, "I'm glad you liked it."

He watched her as she filled the sink with water to wash the dishes, her back to him, the loose braid her hair was held in swishing from side to side whenever she moved her head. He suddenly wondered how long her hair was, blushing when he caught himself mentally undoing the braid and running his fingers through the auburn tresses. Getting up to clear his mind, he finished his glass of orange juice and brought it over to her. “Can I help?”

“I wash you dry?” she asked, holding out a tea towel which was accepted with a nod.

They worked in comfortable silence. She was surprised by how efficient he turned out to be, but held her tongue.

Miss Lemon checked the clock on the wall as she dried her hands, “I better get ready for work.” On her way out of the room, she called back, “The morning paper should be on the doorstep by now.”

He smiled and went to fetch it.

~*~*~*~

Hastings looked up from the newspaper when she appeared in the sitting room, looking like the Miss Lemon he knew; wearing a cream coloured blouse and black pencil skirt, her hair in its customary bun. She had covered the bruise on her cheek with make-up as best as she could. It was still faintly visible, but she had done a marvellous job; nobody who didn’t know it was there would spot it. The cut on her lip still ruined her lip line somewhat, but as far as he could tell it seemed to be healing nicely.

She stopped in the middle of the room and said, “We should be going, or we’ll be late.” Watching him nod, fold up the newspaper as neatly as he could and get up, she turned and walked down the hall.

Putting on her gloves while he fastened the belt of his coat, Felicity reached out to open the door and stopped for a second, her hand hovering over the handle.

“Miss Lemon?”

She shrunk back, spinning around to meet his concerned eyes. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her gloved fingertips digging into her palms to keep her hands from shaking. She hated herself for feeling so weak. Smiling apologetically, she looked down and shook her head. “I’m just… being silly.”

Hastings put his hand on her arm. “No, you’re not.” Giving it a gentle squeeze, he stepped past her and rested his hand on the door handle, looking into her eyes. He knew she was afraid the stranger might be lurking behind the closed door; he had thought about that as well earlier. Opening the door, he stepped through, half expecting someone to hit him, but no one was there. He turned back towards her with a reassuring smile and offered her his arm.

Felicity released a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding and smiled, slid her hand into the crook of his arm and let him guide her down the stairs.

~*~*~*~

They made their way towards Whitehaven Mansions in silence, both lost in thought. Unbeknown to Miss Lemon, Captain Hastings kept checking the rear view mirror to see whether they were being followed. Poirot’s warning was repeating itself in his head. _“…he might be closer than we think.”_ He silently prayed that they would catch him soon. All he wanted were five minutes alone with that man. Yes, five minutes would be quite enough. His fingers tightened around the stirring wheel for a moment, before he forced himself to calm and concentrated on the road again.


	7. Chapter 7

Poirot looked up when he heard the front door open. He had been deep in thought, sitting behind his desk, reflecting on the few details Miss Lemon had been able to recall the previous day.  
He was eager to question her again this morning and so got up to greet the pair in the hallway instead of waiting for them to enter his office.

„Ah, good morning, Miss Lemon.” He bowed slightly, watching Captain Hastings help her out of her coat. „Hastings,“ he added, nodding at him, receiving a smile in return. It was obvious that the good captain had not been home just by looking at the state of his clothes and the slight stubble that graced his face. Poirot was glad that his friend had done as he had asked.

„Good morning, Mister Poirot,” Miss Lemon smiled an easy smile. This felt like every other morning; she could have almost forgotten about yesterday's ordeal.

He walked over to stand in front of her, his keen eyes studying her intently, „And how are you this morning?”

Her smile wavered ever so slightly, „I'm well, thank you for asking.” Something held her back from telling him about the almost-burglary of her home. She knew she would have to tell him at some point, but it was too early in the day to concern oneself with something so awful. All she wanted was to get back to her typewriter and forget about the stranger for a while.

He bowed his head again. „If you please to step into my office?” Behind Miss Lemon, Hastings gave him a disapproving look that he decided to ignore.

Nodding, she suppressed a sigh and walked past him, feeling somewhat uneasy. She sat down in front of his desk this time; wishing she had brought her notepad and pencil, just to have something to occupy her hands with. Instead, she folded them neatly in her lap as she sat with her ankles crossed. „How may I help you, Mister Poirot?”

He pinched his trouser legs and pulled them up slightly, sat down, rested his elbows on the desktop, tented his fingers, and leaned forward. „Miss Lemon,” he paused and smiled kindly at her. „If you please to permit Poirot to inquire again about the incidence that occurred to you yesterday.”

Unconsciously, she straightened her back further. „Of course.”

„You left this house at a quarter past five,” he stated, watching her nod. „You then went to the tea room of _madame_ Braxton?”

„Yes.”

„And on your way there you did not see the man in the alley?”

Miss Lemon shook her head, „No, Mister Poirot, he wasn't there then.”

„Hmm,” he hummed in understanding. „This tea room, you go to it often?”

„Yes. I go there every Thursday,” she replied, „They have a special offer on Thursdays after five.”

„And you always walk the same way to this tea room?”

„It's just down the road, Mister Poirot,” she stated matter-of-factly, slightly surprised by the question.

„ _Oui_.” Poirot paused for a second before asking the next question. „In the past weeks, has anyone made a mention to you about the ring you wear?”

Miss Lemon uncrossed and re-crossed her ankles, shifting in her seat, „No, not that I recall.”

„No one admired it or asked to see it up close?”

She furrowed her brow, unconsciously sucking in her bottom lip, sliding her tongue across the cut on it. A moment later, she said, „Not recently, no.”

Noticing the change in attitude immediately, Poirot probed, „What is it that you are remembering, _mon amie_?”

„It's just,” her eyes met his, „I had forgotten about it.”

Eyebrows raised, he leaned in the slightest bit further, „Yes?”

„I met the suitor of a friend for the first time last month; he kissed my hand.” Miss Lemon studied the bruise on her ring finger, „I didn’t give it much thought then, but I remember him holding on to it for quite a bit longer than what felt comfortable.” She shook her head and looked away, rubbing the back of her hand with the palm of the other as if trying to erase a memory, „He brushed his thumb over my fingers in the most peculiar way. I was embarrassed that he would do that when he was courting Rosemary.”

„And this suitor, you met him again?”

„No, not after that.” She looked at her employer, „I apologised to Rosemary and told her I wasn't feeling comfortable around him. She got rather upset with me.” Felicity felt a pang of guilt, even though she knew it wasn’t really her fault. „I saw her again the other day; she was acting somewhat strange.”

He tilted his head to the side. „Strange?”

„Well, when I asked about Mister Allardyce, that’s his name, she quickly changed the topic.” Miss Lemon looked at him, „I think they might have broken up.”

Poirot nodded, his mind already calculating every possibility. „This friend of yours…”

„Rosemary Patten.”

„You have known her long?”

„Oh, I’ve known her since my training days; we took a shorthand class together.”

Nodding again, the Belgian leaned back in his chair and went quiet for a moment, folding his hands, resting the tips of his index fingers against his pursed lips. „You could persuade her to come and meet with Poirot?”

Felicity scowled slightly, „Is that strictly necessary, Mister Poirot? I think I might still be in her bad books.”

He smiled at her, but insisted, „It might be of vital importance to the case, Miss Lemon.”

His secretary swallowed hard. She had tried to push the thought of being the victim in „a case” to the back of her mind, but now she had to face it again. „If you say so, Mister Poirot,” she got up from her chair, „I’ll ask her to meet you.”

Nodding his thanks, he raised his index finger, „There is one more thing left to do, _mon amie_.”

„Oh?” Felicity looked at him, utterly clueless.

„You have not, I assume, informed the police about the robbery?” Poirot watched with some concern as she turned an even whiter shade of pale than her usual colour and sat down again, her gaze focused on a spot in the distance.   
He gently asked, „You will permit Poirot to call on the Chief Inspector Japp?”

Her shoulders sunk, „Oh, Mister Poirot, I don’t think a case like this is anything Scotland Yard would concern themselves with?” Felicity’s voice was shaking slightly, her eyes pleading.

„No, Miss Lemon,” Poirot pressed his fingertips against the desktop, leaning onto them, „but the good Chief Inspector he would, knowing it is you that needs his help, eh?”

„Well,” she nodded slowly, „I… if you insist?”

Poirot smiled kindly at her, nodding mutely.

Looking down, she returned the nod and got up, leaving the room.

Hastings had been quietly observing all of this from his customary seat on the sofa. He looked towards the sliding window and watched as Miss Lemon came into view on the other side of it, taking a seat at her desk, rubbing her hand across her forehead, clearly exhausted. „Did you really have to do that, Poirot?”

„ _Oui, mon ami_ ,” the detective smiled mildly. „I do not wish to cause our dear Miss Lemon any discomfort, but to find the man who robbed her, it was indeed necessary.”

Frowning at his friend, Hastings got up and nodded.   
He was about to leave the room when he turned back towards Poirot, „She's worried sick, you know?”

Poirot regarded him with understanding, surprised that his friend had thought it necessary to state such an obvious fact.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Hastings decided to explain, „When we got to her flat last night the landlady told her that someone had tried to get into it. Her keys were in the purse the thief took and apparently he had tried to use them.”

„One moment, _mon ami_ ,” Poirot replied, holding up his hand. „You say the person who tried to get into her _appartement_ was the same person who ambushed her?”

„Well, uh, I guess so, yes.“

„But do you not see, Hastings?“

The captain remained quiet, a puzzled look on his face.

After waiting a moment, Poirot finally continued, „How did a stranger, who mugged her in the streets, know which house the keys he has found inside the purse belong to?“

„Oh, uh, I thought she might have had some letters with her or something.“

„Did she?“

„I... didn't asked her.“ Hastings admitted, a sheepish smile on his face.

Poirot huffed, shrugging.

„Well, I have to nip home for a bit,“ Hastings stated, „You will keep an eye on her, right?”

Poirot hummed in agreement, preoccupied with the possibilities of the new information.

„Good,“ the captain walked towards the hall but turned on the threshold, waiting until his friend looked at him, „Please don’t interrogate her again while I’m gone?”  
Only when he saw the other man nod reluctantly, he went on his way.

~*~*~*~

Miss Lemon was standing in front of the cabinet next to the door, filing some paid bills when Captain Hastings appeared next to her, leaning against the door frame his hat in his hands, his coat still unbuttoned.

„I'll be off for a bit, Miss Lemon,“ he stated with a smile.

Returning it, she nodded mutely and watched him hesitate.

„Are you going to be all right?“ He asked after a moment.

„I'll be fine,“ she replied, touched by his concern. For a second she remembered looking down at him as he slept next to her this morning and blushed.

„Right then.“ He put on his hat and tipped it, „I'll see you later.“

With that, he was gone.

Felicity heard the front door close behind him and turned back to her filing.  
Next were the case files.  
She stopped and turned towards her filing cabinets. Every one of Mister Poirot's cases classified and cross referenced five different ways. She remembered Chief Inspector Japp complimenting her on it. He had said that the Yard's system couldn't hold a candle to hers. As far as she could remember it was the only compliment the Chief Inspector had ever paid her. And she was immensely proud of it.  
Now she looked at the neat little labels on each of the small drawers and realised;   
there would be a case file on her.

Name of Witnesses: None.   
Not even one. She had been alone with him in that alley. A cold shiver ran down her spine, a memory of the knife with the jagged edge cutting into her neck flashing in front of her eyes. She could have ended up dead.

Name of Perpetrator: Unknown.   
She prayed that it wouldn't stay that way.

Victim's trade or profession: Secretary.   
How unimportant that sounded; especially considering that the bulk of Mister Poirot's cases had to do with people of a higher standing. If she had been anyone but herself, the case would not even have been considered by the great detective, she was sure of it.  
She felt strangely guilty of taking up his time when he could be helping someone else.

Type of case: Assault.   
There weren't many in that category. Most of the cases were filed under M.

Her gaze travelled towards the clock her employer had given her as a present some years ago and she snapped out of her musing.   
Almost 9 o'clock; time to prepare Mister Poirot's tisane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to ScarletQuinjet for taking the time to comment! Yes, we will see Poirot's little grey cells in action. Much more of that in the next chapter. Stay tuned!


	8. Chapter 8

Poirot left the office at a quarter past five, following the path his secretary had taken the day before. He measured the time it took to get to the tea room, making a mental note about the position of the sun before opening the door to the establishment and asking the waitress if she remembered where Miss Lemon had been sitting.

“Oh, Miss Lemon; she always takes the table by the window,” the aging woman pointed towards a table for two at the front of the shop, nestled into one of the two small alcoves next to the door.

“ _Merci_ ,” Poirot bowed slightly and followed her to the table in question, waiting for her to indicate which one of the two chairs he should take.

He smiled his thanks at the waitress and was left alone before he could ask his next question when someone called her over to ask for their bill. He leaned his walking cane against the table edge, took off his hat and gloves, and placed them neatly on the pristine white tablecloth.

Taking a look at the menu, Poirot was pleasantly surprised to find that it listed tisane. He didn't feel particularly hungry, so he watched the waitress for a moment until he made eye contact and then raised his hand, smiling his thanks at her affirmative nod.

A moment later, the lean woman appeared beside him. “Well then, what can I get you, sir?” She looked down at him with a kind smile.

“I see here you offer the tisane?” Poirot pointed towards the entry on the menu.

Her smile widened slightly, “Oh yes, sir. It's not the most popular with the customers, but Mrs. Braxton swears by it. I have to say, I think it's quite tasty,” she shrugged, “but most guests who come here just stick with what they know.”

Poirot's lips curled up, his eyes sparkling with delight. Nodding, he said “If you please to bring me a cup of it?”

“Right away, sir.”

He had to wait exactly six and a half minutes before he was presented with a steaming cup, which smelled surprisingly delicious. Before the waitress could turn to leave he stopped her, “ _Mademoiselle_ , if you would please permit me to ask you some questions?”

The waitress gave him the once-over, then threw an uncertain glance towards the kitchen door.

“I promise not to keep you from your work for too long, _mademoiselle_...?”

“Dwight, sir. Millie Dwight.”

“ _Mademoiselle_ Dwight,” he bowed his head, “I am Hercule Poirot.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Millie liked the smile that took over his features, she felt strangely proud of herself. “Not through Miss Lemon, mind you, she is a very respectable person, but from the papers.”

Poirot nodded in understanding; of course his loyal secretary would never talk about him, but the fact that this woman had felt the need to clarify showed that she was fond enough of Miss Lemon to want to make sure her reputation remained undamaged. “Please to sit.”

“I'd rather not, sir,” Miss Dwight looked back towards the kitchen, “being on the clock and all that.”

“ _Oui, d'accord_.” The detective leaned back in his chair and began by asking “Miss Lemon said to me she visits with you every Thursday?”

“Yes, that's right.” Millie clasped her hands together in front of her, “We have a special on Thursdays.”

Poirot smiled kindly, remembering his secretary telling him the same. “ _Mademoiselle_ , if you please try to remember how long it was that Miss Lemon was staying?”

“She left at about, oh I don't know... six, maybe? Couldn't have been later,” her eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling, the waitress continued, “no, couldn't have been later. Mister Callahan always comes in at six and I know she was gone by then, because he sat at the same table.”

“ _Bon_ ,” He nodded. “Now tell to me, if you please, was there anyone here leaving at the same time as her?”

“You mean like following her?” Millie cocked her head to one side.

“ _Oui_.”

“No, sir, I don't think so. It was a Thursday like any other; she came in alone, sat alone and left alone. There was no one but the regulars in, so I am sure I would have noticed if she had been followed.”

Poirot smiled up at her, “Thank you, Miss Dwight. You are the keen observer.”

She blushed slightly, “Thank you, sir.” someone called out to Millie and they both turned to see Mrs. Braxton standing in the doorway to the kitchen, beckoning her over. Before she left, Millie stopped for a moment and said, “Mister Poirot, would you mind if I'd ask you something now?”

“ _Au contraire, mademoiselle_. Please proceed.”

Millie hesitated for a second. “Is she... is she all right? Miss Lemon, I mean.”

The detective was pleasantly surprised by the sincere worry showing in the woman's eyes. “Do not worry yourself, _mademoiselle_. Miss Lemon she is well indeed.”

“Oh, I'm glad to hear that,” Millie breathed, then shot a quick glance towards Mrs. Braxton still standing in the doorway. Looking at the round little man in front of her, she curtsied, “Excuse me.”

Poirot smiled and bowed his head, then pulled out his pocket watch. Half past five; he would stay for another half hour. Picking up the cup of tisane, he took a tentative sip and nodded appreciatively.

~*~*~*~

At five to six, Hercule Poirot noted that the sun was all but gone, the street lamps remaining unlit. He paid his bill, bid Miss Dwight goodbye and made his way back towards the office.

Stopping in the alleyway Miss Lemon had been pulled into, he took out his pocket watch and nodded as he continued to estimate the timeline. Patiently waiting, he watched the lamplighter approach and checked his watch again. Quarter past six.

“ _Mon pauvre_ Miss Lemon,” he uttered to himself, shaking his head. There was a timeframe of only about 10 to 15 minutes in which the assault could have happened. Considering that it must have been planned, and to Poirot everything indicated that, it felt rather rushed.

He furrowed his brow and stepped towards the man lighting the lamps down the street.

“Ev'ning, sir,” the man tipped his hat as he saw the well-dressed gentleman approach him. He eyed the fine, grey coat and elaborate walking cane, remembering the man in front of him to be from around the corner. They had crossed paths a couple of times over the years, but had never exchanged more than a greeting.

Poirot mirrored the gesture and bowed slightly. “Good evening, _monsieur_.” He watched as the man went on with his work and asked, “May I ask, is it always at this hour that you turn on the lights?”

The lamplighter huffed in amusement, but puffed out his chest, pointed towards the lamp and reply proudly, “This one's on at quarter past on the dot, sir. Corner of Manderley Alley always comes on quarter past six. Every night.”

“ _Oui_ ,” Poirot smiled at the man. “You are doing the job most excellent, monsieur. A truly important task.”

At this, the other man straightened his back unconsciously, “That it is, sir. Mighty proud of it too.”

“As you should be.” After a short pause, Poirot inquired, “May I ask, was it you who turned on the lights yesterday?”

“Every day for the past thirty years, sir.” He leaned on the pole he was carrying and regarded the gentleman in front of him.

“That is most admirable,” Poirot said with honesty in his voice.

Taking off his hat, the lamplighter scratched his balding head, somewhat abashed by the compliment. “Well, thank you, sir. It's not often a gentleman like yourself takes the time to appreciate what I do.”

“I am most sorry to hear that; you deserve the utmost respect of us all” The detective smiled kindly, “Without you, we would all walk in darkness, _n'est-ce pas_?” Watching the man in front of him smirk self-contented, he went on, “Tell me, monsieur; last night, did anyone come out of this alley when you were here?”

The taller man was quiet for a moment, apparently thinking it over carefully, which Poirot appreciated. Finally he shook his head, “Nah, can’t say that I have. Mind you, I don’t pay that much attention to the people coming and going,” he smirked, “even though the wife wishes I would.”

Poirot’s eyes sparkled with mirth, though he was somewhat sad not to get the information he had desired.

“Hmm,” the lamplighter furrowed his brow, “Come to think of it, there was a shady sort of person lurking in the shadows. I get a lot of those, but as soon as the lights are turned on they usually disappear.”

The detective raised his brows, “And you saw such a person yesterday?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think I did.” The lamplighter nodded slightly, scratching his cheek, “came out of the alley and went the other way when he saw me.”

Poirot pursed his lips, “And this man you did not see his face?”

“No, sir. Sorry, sir.” The taller man shook his head, “Had on a fine black coat; hat over his eyes. Went down that way,” he pointed his chin into the direction Poirot had come from. “Why you asking?”

Choosing his words carefully, the Belgian decided to be honest, “My secretary, she was robbed here last night.”

“Oh my, sir,” he uttered, “I’m sorry to hear that.” There was honesty in his voice. He looked at the foreign gentleman and asked, “Who’s your secretary then?”

Poirot was somewhat surprised by the question and remained quiet for a moment.

“Sorry, sir; don’t mean to pry. It’s just that I feel somewhat responsible for the people on my streets.”

“Do not worry yourself, monsieur,” Poirot smiled kindly.

“I’m forgetting my manners altogether,” the lamplighter brushed his gloved hand over his coat in an attempt to clean it, then extended it in greeting, “Bill Conroy.”

Shaking the offered hand without a moment of hesitation, the detective smiled, bowing his head, “Hercule Poirot.”

“Ah, I thought you might be,” Bill’s lips curled back in a smile, revealing a chipped front tooth. Eyeing the stout man in front of him, he realized, “Hold on; it’s Miss Lemon you’re talking about, isn’t it? Fine lady that one. Always has a kind word for us.”

Poirot was delighted to hear that his employee was held in such high regards and smiled.

“You said she was robbed?”

“ _Oui_.” The detective nodded, “Last night when the lights they were still out.”

Bill felt terrible about the situation, “I’m sorry to hear that. …I’m even more sorry I can’t help you, sir. I really don’t remember. Wish I would.”

“Do not be too hard on yourself, my friend,” Poirot said. “But if you please,” he pulled out his business card, “if you see him again, or remember anything else, no matter how insignificant you might think, to call on Poirot?”

Mr. Conroy took the card and looked at it for a moment before opening his coat to put it in the inside pocket for safe-keeping, “You bet, Mister Poirot. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Nodding his head in thanks, Poirot bowed, “ _Merci monsieur_.” He tipped his hat and was about to walk on when the lamplighter stopped him.

“Did he harm her?” The anger in his voice was audible.

Poirot turned back to him, “He took something from her that she holds most dear.”

“You catch him, Mister Poirot,” Bill’s voice was a low growl, “And when you do, make sure he’ll get what he deserves.”

Poirot nodded curtly at the man and then turned to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the inconsistent formatting regarding italics and quotation marks throughout the chapters.


	9. Chapter 9

On his return, Poirot heard the busy noise of the typewriter as his faithful secretary worked tirelessly. He knew she couldn’t keep her hands idle; her mind would wander back to the events of the previous afternoon and she would overthink every detail, imagining a hundred what-if scenarios and blaming herself for not reacting in some other way than she had. He was glad she kept herself busy, but a small part of him wished she would revisit the incident, so she might remember some more details for him to work with. Spotting Hastings' coat and hat on the rack, he hung his own next to them.

“Miss Lemon?” He stuck his head in the door and saw her look up at him, “If you please to step into my office?” Poirot felt somewhat guilty when he saw her expression turn sour.

“Yes, Mister Poirot.” She answered dutifully, taking off her glasses. For a moment she considered taking her note pad and pencil with her this time, but in the end decided against it; she knew she had not been summoned to take a letter.

In the sitting room, Captain Hastings looked up from where he had been studying the newspaper when the detective came in and walked over to his desk. Furrowing his brow, he looked towards the still open door, then back at Poirot, but decided to keep quiet for now.

Sitting down, Poirot waited patiently, re-aligning his inkwell with the desk mat, and smiled kindly at Miss Lemon when she stepped in and closed the door behind her a minute later.

When she entered the room, Hastings folded his newspaper, placing it next to him as he sat up properly on the sofa, focusing his attention on his friend’s secretary as the detective motioned for her to take a seat in front of his desk. He silently wished that this was not going to be another interrogation.

“Miss Lemon, you have contacted Miss Patten?”

“Mrs, Mister Poirot; she’s widowed,” Miss Lemon corrected, “She asked for us to meet her on her lunch hour tomorrow.”

“Bon,” Poirot nodded and leaned back in his chair, “I have today made the acquaintance of _mademoiselle_ Millie Dwight, and _monsieur_ Bill Conroy.”

“You were at the tea room?” Miss Lemon seemed surprised to learn of his whereabouts.

“ _Oui_ , Poirot he had to establish the details of the time line, _n'est-ce pas_?” he explained. “Now, _mademoiselle_ Dwight she told to me that you left no later than six o’clock.”

“Well, yes,” Felicity furrowed her brow, slightly confused, “You know I can’t keep a time piece on my person, so I have asked Mrs. Braxton to make sure I don’t stay later than a quarter to six, but since I had arrived later than usual yesterday, I told her to bring over my bill at five to.”

“Ah,” Poirot raised his index finger, “this you had not told to me before.”

“I’m sorry, Mister Poirot, I should have realised,” Miss Lemon replied, clearly flustered.

The detective smiled kindly, trying to ease her mind. He saw Hastings get up from the sofa, putting his hands in his pocket and shuffling over to stand next to where Miss Lemon was sitting.

“Why would it be important whether it was quarter to or five to, Poirot?”

“Because, _mon ami_ , the lights at the corner of Manderley Alley they go on at quarter past six every night. And the thief he relied on the dark to hide him.”

Hastings furrowed his brow, “How would you know when the lights came on?”

“Mister Conroy,” Miss Lemon smiled knowingly. Looking up at the captain, she explained, “He’s the lamplighter.”

“ _Oui_ ,” Poirot nodded. “He holds you in the regards most highly, Miss Lemon.”

His secretary blushed slightly, smiling to herself. “He’s a very kind man. His son is following in his footsteps.”

“ _Comment_?”

“He’s going to be a lamplighter as well; Mister Conroy told me just the other day.” A gentle expression washed over Miss Lemon’s features. “He’s terribly proud.”

Poirot’s lips curled up under his moustache, his eyes twinkling. It was nice to see Miss Lemon smile again.

“Poirot? I was just thinking,” Hastings interrupted, “have you talked to Japp yet?”

Miss Lemon stiffened in her seat; still unsettled about involving the police; she’d rather kept everything low profile, embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

“ _Oui, mon ami_. I have talked to the chief inspector earlier today and he agreed to meet here at seven thirty. Which gives us another,” Poirot paused to take a look at his pocket watch, “Fifty-three minutes.”

Hastings watched Miss Lemon slump slightly and glared at Poirot, who seemed completely oblivious of the current state of his employee. He sat down in the chair next to hers and put a hand on her forearm, making her look at him. “Are you all right, Miss Lemon?”

She inhaled deeply and tried to smile, “I’ll be fine.”

Poirot was surprised by her reaction, not quite sure why she would behave the way she did. “Miss Lemon, you are unwell?”

“No,” Felicity looked at him, feeling her cheeks burn, “It’s just….” She stayed quiet for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I just want this all to be over.”

His heart went out to her. Getting up, he rounded his desk and stopped in front of he, smiling gently, “Everything will be well, Miss Lemon.” Pulling back his shoulders, his hands folded behind back, he went on, “And now, Hercule Poirot he will prepare for you the most delicious dinner. There is nothing better to lift the spirits than good food and pleasant company. Please to make yourself comfortable.”

“But-“

“Ah,” he raised his index finger, effectively silencing her. “You have worked hard enough for the day, _mon amie_. Now it is time for you to put up the legs.”

“Feet.” Hastings corrected in a half whisper.

Poirot gazed towards him, nodded in thanks and then turned, walking towards the kitchen.

“Are you sure you're all right, Miss Lemon?” Hastings asked carefully when they were alone.

“I'm tired,” she stated flatly. “I know he means well, but I just want to go home.”

Nodding in understanding, Hastings smiled kindly at her, wishing he could help in any other way. Suddenly, an idea struck him. “Why don't you lie down in here for a bit? I can tell you from experience: That sofa is rather comfortable,” he smirked.

She raised her eyebrows at him, “Oh, I couldn't.”

“Why not? You're exhausted and Poirot is not going to come out of the kitchen for a good half hour; longer if I promise to lay the table.” He offered her his hand, “Come on, I promise I will warn you when he approaches.”

Felicity eyed him suspiciously, finally taking his hand with some hesitation. “All right,” she got up, “I trust you.”

He looked down at her, feeling a comfortable warmth in the pit of his stomach. “I won't let you down.”

Studying his eyes intently, she felt the sudden urge to kiss him, but didn't dare act on it. This was Captain Hastings after all; one of her best friends. So instead she walked past him and lay on the sofa, thinking _"...maybe just five minutes."_


	10. Chapter 10

The Chief Inspector had arrived just in time for dinner. To Felicity's great relief Captain Hastings had kept his word and had roused her from her cat nap before anybody could have noticed about it. It had been quite nice being woken by his gentle voice. Little did she know that the captain had spent a long moment just studying her relaxed features before finally waking her.

They had enjoyed a pleasant meal ,Mr. Poirot insisting that talk about the assault should wait until afterwards, so as not to -in his words- "spoil the food", and had then retired to the sitting room area where her employer had served them hot chocolate, that had been accepted with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Nobody had wanted to spoil the relaxed atmosphere, but when Captain Hastings had gotten up from his now seemingly customary seat next to her on the sofa to help Poirot clean away their cups, Japp had taken it as a hint to get down to business.

Captain Hastings had kept a close eye on Miss Lemon while she recounted the events of the robbery, hurrying back to sit by her side after disposing the dishes in the kitchen. Had he been less distracted by worry, he might have seen his Belgian friend smile to himself at his behaviour.

Poirot on the other hand just listened intently to his secretary’s statements on his return, adding a comment here and there, while she told the chief inspector what had happened after she had gotten home, rather impressed by the calmness she displayed to the untrained eye. Of course she didn’t fool him, but at least Japp seemed rather oblivious to how shaken up she still was about the incidents.

There was a peculiar sort of dullness in the middle of her chest while her mind went back to yesterday afternoon. Talking about it now it felt so unreal. More like something one might have read in a book than something that had actually happened. Sitting there, her hands neatly folded in her lap, Felicity watched the chief inspector finish his notes.

The pencil was still resting against the paper as he looked up, "Right; so you say that the thief knows where you live then?"

"Yes," she pulled herself back to reality, straightening her back, "My landlady, saw him as he tried to get into my flat. He had my key."

Japp nodded, pursing his lips, "And does he still have your key?"

"No; he dropped it when he ran away after Mrs. Fowler asked him what he was doing there."

Humming to himself, the chief inspector's eyes roamed over the bullet points in his notebook, "Do you have any other valuables in the house?"

She was somewhat confused by his question. "Well, yes. I do."

Japp nodded again, looking at her. "You should probably find a different place to store them. Just because he doesn't still have your key doesn't mean he will not try to get into your flat again."

Captain Hastings felt the sudden urge to throttle the Chief Inspector when he saw Miss Lemon's shoulders tense at the comment, and the muscles in her jaw clenched visibly. Reality had hit her hard. He leaned back a little and placed his hand on the seat behind her, shifting his weight so he was angled towards her, his chest almost brushing her shoulder.

Felicity looked at the man next to her and shot him a grateful smile, tempted to lean into him, before looking back towards Japp, calmer than before.

"So he made off with your purse, your gloves and your ring." Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the chief inspector studied his notepad rather intensely. He glanced towards Poirot, "And you think he knew about the ring?"

"Oui, Chief Inspector," Poirot shrugged, "after all, it was hidden beneath the glove."

"Right," Japp nodded and closed the notebook with a flick of his wrist. "Is it insured?" he asked Miss Lemon, sliding the pencil through the little leather loop on the side.

She furrowed her brow, "I beg your pardon?"

"Expensive jewellery often is," he told her, storing his note pad in the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Well, yes, but that's beside the point." Her usually so gentle voice suddenly became hard edged, "I don't care about the money, Chief Inspector; I just want my mother's ring back."

Surprised by her change of manner, Japp apologised, "I'm sorry, Miss Lemon, I didn't mean to-"

"No, Chief Inspector," she interrupted him, shaking her head, "I know you didn't." Taking a deep breath, she continued, averting her gaze, "I'm sorry, I just... it's highly frustrating to know how small the chance of retrieving it is."

Japp nodded; she was right, of course. Trying to sound optimistic, he finally said, "Well, you never know.” He straightened up, his moustache twitching, "After all, you have London's finest on the case."

Felicity suppressed a giggle when she saw both, Japp and Poirot smile proudly at her. She glanced at Captain Hastings and raised an eyebrow, watching him bow his head to hide is steadily widening grin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to goodoldbaz & wortinterpret on tumblr for their feedback and kind words.  
> And thanks to anelementofsurprise for reading over it as well!
> 
> ((FOR THE SAKE OF MY SANITY, LET'S PRETEND THE FRONT DOOR OF POIROT'S FLAT CAN BE OPENED FROM THE OUTSIDE WITHOUT A KEY IF IT ISN'T LOCKED... AND SINCE HE WAS HOME IT WASN'T! ...blasted plot bunny. -_-))  
> ...that will probably make sense to the rest of you by chapter 3 or so.


End file.
